Always Never

Prologue

Dedicated to A.

Love doesn't need to be earned.

Five years ago

The biggest mistake is to think that you are indispensable in someone's life. Throughout the relationship, you believe without me, their life will be dull; I am the one who gives them unforgettable moments; they won't cope without my silly messages and the daily "good morning"; I am the ray of light in their dark kingdom...

It's all nonsense.

We are replaceable.

I am replaceable in his life. There will be someone else who will captivate him, someone towards whom he will have sincere feelings. It is she who will heal his emotional wounds and become his necessity. No matter how much he denies that he doesn't need any of it.

Taking another sip of coffee, without taking my eyes off the Brooklyn Bridge, its metal gleaming in the dawn rays of the April sun. I feel both good and bad.

I close my eyes and imagine the dream that has been playing in my head for the past month: we're sitting on that bench, sipping coffee, silently enjoying the sunrise. A pleasant melancholy touches my heart. A satisfying feeling of closure.

It's all over.

I will never receive another message from him. I will never again smile at the long-awaited notification. I will never again spend hours guessing where he is, if everything is okay with him, if there are any new work problems. I will never again wonder what to reply to him or how to grab his attention.

The paper cup trembles in my restless hands. An unexpected tear runs down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away. I don't want to show my weakness in front of the never-sleeping city of lights.

I am strong, and I will handle this absurd situation. No one promised me anything; it's foolish to make a fuss over nothing.

I open the note on my phone, one I started a week ago. Slowly, as if savoring the bitterness of the words, I type out new lines with my fingers. In the background, another fire truck rushes by, drowning everything in its blaring siren; a cyclist rings a bell, warning pedestrians of their presence; dogs bark, chasing each other across the square; people hurry past, heading to work, eating bagels for breakfast on the go. But I don't notice any of it. Around me is a vacuum, and I hear only the whispers of my own thoughts.

I sigh heavily as I put a period at the end of the sentence. I take another drag from my e-cigarette, its cherry scent mixing with the taste of salted caramel cappuccino. And I reread the words again and again.

But our meeting will never happen. Because neither of us will allow it to. You - because you panic and run every time things get too serious. Me - because I'm too afraid of my own fear of getting burned. We'll periodically send messages to each other until one of us gets tired of this game. We'll visit the places we dream about but separately. Maybe one day we'll walk down parallel streets of the same city at the same time. And only the characters (who unexpectedly became prototypes for us, although at the time of writing we weren't even acquainted) will be happy on the pages of the book (author's note: I'm talking about my book "Forbidden Secret").

We'll never laugh heartily together at another silly joke; curse at terrible drivers; admire sunsets and sunrises while hugging. We'll never try each other's favorite coffee or see what each of us cooks for breakfast. We won't curse the Vietnamese restaurant that will be the only one open in the neighborhood during the holidays. We'll never go in search of the most delicious honey cake together. You'll never scrunch up your nose watching me eat sushi, while enjoying a tasty quesadilla yourself. I will never fuck you (literally and figuratively) by checking out sex scenes from my new books. And I'll never greet you home from work with a delicious dinner, simultaneously cursing careless clients who write emails so late. We'll never fight because I put something in the wrong place again. I'll never poke you in the side at night when you snore (at least, because it doesn't bother me). We'll never have pillow fights or argue in the mornings about who goes first to the shower. We'll never get lost on the streets of New York at night, holding hands. I'll never be able to drag you to Coachella, swearing at my best friend who decided to have a baby before fulfilling our dream. We'll never snort in unison seeing screaming babies, crossing ourselves and dousing with holy water at the sight.

At most, maybe one day we will pass by on the street and won't even recognize each other.

Never. That's our word.

I gather myself together in pieces and rise from the bench, tossing the empty cup into the nearest trash can. For a moment, I think I see a familiar silhouette on the stone steps behind me. I sigh frantically and close my eyes to drive away the vision.

My knees weaken as a text message arrives on my phone, interrupting the song in my headphones with a cheerful trill. I glance at the screen, already knowing there won't be anything interesting.

And, unfortunately, I'm right.

I delete the incoming notification about discounts at an online store and approach the railing of the embankment. A light smile touches my lips. I've always dreamed of being in this place, and now it's like a waking dream. I revel in the tranquility of the waters of the East River Bay. I inhale the salty breeze and the morning freshness carried by the spring wind. It gives me strength.

I will overcome our always never.